ever dare—do that sort of thing. I've often wondered since. But how it must feel—to have done it all—even before you've graduated—to—to be so complete!"
"Oh, you'll go and do it some day," Stewart laughed, "just as soon as you've seen the girl. That's the trouble; you've never yet seen the girl."
"I suppose that's it," Floyd said; but even as he spoke, he was thinking of Lydia, and the thought brought her before him with a poignant vividness,—as she had been that day in the boat, as she had appeared to him later among the trees, radiant yet in tears, and said to him, "You will be a hero, always;" as she had stood one evening innocently in his arms, teaching him to dance. He had not many memories of her, for since coming to college he had spent his summers in Canada or abroad and most of his short winter vacations elsewhere than in Avalon; but now he realized with a vague sadness that no other memories of his life had the charm of these. He tried not to show any trace of sadness.
"To be so complete!" he reiterated, and Stewart caught the reverent feeling hidden in the wondering jocoseness of his tone. "It does n't seem right at your age, Stewart, to be so complete."
